


Resonance.

by renieandthejets



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Memory Loss, Non-Linear Narrative, Pre-Canon, basically just the reader/apprentice and their goat man doin things, but also featuring plague!lucio, jk it'll probably be a back and forth with the smut, love me this goat boy, no pwp we die like men waiting for our smut, not sure about that tag lmao, possibly, pre-death, pre-plague
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-12 00:20:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12947226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renieandthejets/pseuds/renieandthejets
Summary: You don’t remember him. No one does these days. You don’t remember the palace halls, the fluttering of royal silks brushing against your body as you walked, the way that he smirked at you as you tried not to stare. You don’t remember the masquerade, the death, the fire. And maybe you never will.You don’t remember him, but he remembers you, and he’s determined to make you his, just as it always had been.





	1. O’ grand magician, are those ashes of the dead upon your tongue?

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo, it’s your girl, Ms. Never Finishes Her Fanfics back at it with another spicy fic that might actually get spicy for once! I love slow build but god knows I’m the worst when it comes to writing them, so hopefully this time something actually comes out of it for once. I have a few personal theories in mind when it comes to the Arcana and the mystery surrounding Lucio’s “death”, but for now all you need to know is that the MC/Apprentice/You was once the court’s magician and worked closely with the Count and Countess.

The wing belonging to the deceased count has been untouched since your initial, accidental visit. You knew there were secrets, knew that you were the first and _only_ one to step foot in such a cursed place, but the fear sank deep into your bones, willing you useless and unable to stay focused on your current task of clearing the name of one Julian Devorak. You thought it best to stay away from the palace for a few days, claiming to Nadia that things needed to be tended to at the shop, but your distance from the count’s room seemed to have only made things worse. Nightmares plague you relentlessly no matter where you slept, vivid images of sanguine eyes gazing upon you with every turn you made. Your feet drag slowly in your dreams, unable to run as the visage of a dead man quite literally haunts you with every breath you take. It matters not if you rest under the fair embrace of sleep, as he finds you anyway. He’ll always find you, no matter what. Tonight in particular is no different. You find yourself in an abandoned town, Vesuvia, perhaps? Nary a soul is to be found, and instead what accompanies you is a thick fog that makes it almost entirely impossible to see the outlines of the buildings. 

_Little apprentice— sweet, sweet little apprentice_ , he coos to you amidst a sea of fog and sluggish movements, words slipping from him as if he were talking to a treasured lover. You cannot see him, the fog so thick that even your own hands are barely visible. But you know he’s there. You know he’s there, waiting and _wanting_. The voice is human, but the figure is not. It is monstrous and terrifying and enthralling all at once, and despite your futile attempts to run away from it in your dreams, your feet stay firmly in place. You would listen to him, whether you wanted to or not. _You haven’t come back to me, you know. Why don’t you? The answers you’re looking for won’t be found in that library. Surely you know that._ And then there’s a bark of laughter, although you fail to find the amusement in his words. Your mouth opens, but you cannot speak. What a foolish notion, to think that you would have control of your own **nightmares**. 

You feel the heat of him behind you, the chill of pointed metal settling at the swell of your back, unable to suppress the involuntary shudder that visibly courses through you. It’s enough to make him laugh again, low and bare against your ear. The clawed hand, the very same one you saw in the painting only a few days prior, encircles your waist, settling at the base of your hip and pulling you back _hard_. Instead of the hellish goat you see, you collide with the solid wall of the count himself, but it is your fear that keeps you in place and unable to look up at what surrounds you. He says your name, gentle and calm in comparison to how he usually addresses you. _Won’t you come back to me, my dear?_

You awake screaming. 

\--

The next few days are a whirlwind of events. Most of your time is (yet again) spent in the library, hunched over the desk of a wanted man and staring blankly at the pages before you. You sighed. This was utterly pointless. It would have helped if you had the man in question here to help out, but you hadn’t seen him since he’d been waiting for you outside the shop the other night. Perhaps Portia would—? No, that was too risky of an idea. There were already enough people involved, and Portia was worried enough about her brother as it was. Putting her in danger just on the off chance that she might see him before _you_ did wasn’t worth it. 

_You haven’t come back to me, you know._

The voice rings in your head again as if he were in the library with you, sitting down and bemusedly watching you struggle to find answers in illegible handwriting. You didn’t _want_ to think about the abandoned wing, didn’t want to go back and see whatever monstrosity was lurking within those damned halls. But you had your magic, didn’t you? You weren’t _just_ a card reader; you were so much more than what people claimed you to be. Perhaps that had been the problem all along, being too scared to defend yourself from the _demon_ that lurked just a few paces down the hall. Maybe— maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to go back there after all. Just a quick look, nothing else. And if the beast decided to rear its ugly head? 

You’d take care of it. 

You make a note to tell Portia that you’re heading off to bed a bit early this evening, feigning sickness and a cold that you just can’t quite seem to get over. She gives a sympathetic nod, tells you not to work yourself too hard, and then you’re on your way. Your steps are calm, yet calculated. With every soft _click_ of your shoes against the abandoned marble came another hitched breath, another frantic glance around to make sure that you were well and truly alone. A bright glowing ball of magic lingered in the palm of your right hand, its warmth radiant and soothing despite how cold it seemed to be at this end of the palace. With this, too, you were able to see farther, unlike the dream you had not too long ago. But right here, right now, as you gingerly opened the door to the count’s chambers, things couldn’t have been better. They were fine, even. No disembodied voices, no goats with missing limbs, just you and the reminiscent taste of a dead man lingering in the back of your throat. Even as you step further into the room, truly make your presence known, he remains quiet. Perhaps he wasn’t around? No, that didn’t seem quite right. The count’s presence was all over the city, not just the palace, if the way he visited you in your dreams meant anything. But— why you, out of all people? Was it because you were the first one to disturb the scene of the crime after all this time? The count was known for his attention-seeking personality before the murder, so why would death change that in the slightest? Especially considering that the mystery surrounding his death was unsolved, and nary a soul had yet to mourn his passing. Yes, that was surely it. A coincidence. There was, however, the one small little detail that you conveniently forgot when thinking of all of this. 

He knew your name. Every time, in every dream, he said your name. Always said softer than the rest of his words, as if he was trying to help you remember just _who_ you were. 

Shaking your head at the mere thought, you continued your search in the bedroom, looking for something, _anything_ that might prove useful in your research. But all that seemed to greet you were the piles of ash, still snow-like and now scattered about the room, your escapade from last time disrupting the peacefulness the scene seemed to evoke. Once again, you are drawn towards the painting of Lucio, unsure as to why. It seems to pull at you, to tug at your heartstrings, stirring up a wide range of emotions for a man who meant nothing to you. Almost instinctively, the light in your hand grows brighter, illuminating the tall and proud figure with an equally proud face to match. “He’s familiar, isn’t he?” you thought aloud, eyes squinting at the gaudy art in front of you. No matter how hard you tried, however, you couldn’t seem to think of anything besides what little you knew. That, and it was almost as if every time you looked at the painting it brought about a raging headache, your memories feeling fuzzy and doubt beginning to creep its way into you. There really was just something about this whole situation though, wasn’t there? If only you--

 _Beginning to remember me, are we?_

Your breathing stops at the sound of a disembodied voice, heart beating rapidly in its cage. _Freedom, freedom!_ it cries, the tension palpable, too much for you to deal with. And then his touch is there again, just like in your dream, settling precariously against your waist. Instinctively, your feet shuffle backwards away from the painting, but he remains behind you, four pointed fingertips digging into the flesh of your hip and preventing you from moving further. He laughs again, that same low and deep rumbling right against your ear. You feel him there, the brush of his lips against your skin, nose nuzzling your cheek. “L-Lucio—?” you breathe softly, barely a whisper and yet it felt like so much more in the dead silence of the night. You swore you could have heard his breathing hitch. He speaks again this time, and the words are enough to send you careening back into another place and another time. 

_Oh, my sweet little **magician**. I knew you’d be back. _


	2. O’ grand magician, how selflessly you love him!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind words and kudos so far!! I was surprised to get as much feedback as I did considering how small the fandom seems to be, so I hope this next chapter lives up to everyone’s expectations. As a sidenote, I am of the firm belief that Nadia and Lucio were in an “open relationship” of sorts, since it’s been confirmed that him and Valerius were a thing and cheating is for CHUMPS. If anything, you had Nadia’s full blessing with this (and she was probably grateful for it since she didn’t have to spend as much time around him, saving her the inevitable headaches).

The palace was bright and bustling, both servants and guards frantically moving about to prepare for the festivities taking place later in the day. The count’s birthday was an extravagant and well-planned ordeal, a fact that you were not ignorant to, especially after working for both him and his wife for quite a few years. Thankfully, your duties for the day were minimal, mainly just ensuring that everything for your masquerade ensemble was still in one piece (spoiler: it was) and that you made sure to clean yourself up and cover up whatever remnants of last night that still lingered. Most of what had occurred came to of little surprise to you, as the count was the type of person that insisted on a “birthday month” instead of simply celebrating on the actual day. The fact alone that he had a masquerade held every year in his honor did little to oppose this. So, as it had been every year, the month started off with days and nights of grand feasts shared amongst the nobles, with you as the palace’s official court magician being welcomed to these events with (mostly) open arms. Despite your status in the palace, many of their nobles preferred to keep their noses turned up whenever you were around, calling you a witch amongst other things. It had been bothersome at first, but at the end of the day you knew where your true companionships were, and stuffy, ignorant nobles weren’t about to get in the way of you joining in on the celebrations. 

A bird chirping faintly in the early rise of the morning gently roused you from your sleep, the internal alarm clock that had you up before the sun even began to show itself being delayed from last night’s festivities. You weren’t hungover, thankfully, but what you wouldn’t give for a lazy day despite it being one of the most important days of the year. The room you were in smelled faintly of expensive wine and exotic perfumes, both of which you’d never be able to afford in your lifetime. Thankfully, you didn’t really have to, the generosity of Vesuvia’s ruling couple providing all that and then some. But it was nice all the same, and sometimes being in a situation such as this was enough to knock you back down a few notches. The sheets wrapped around your bare skin seem just as expensive – if not more – than the bottles of wine and leftover hors d'oeuvres scattered about the room, but the material is cool and welcoming given the summer heat that threatened to creep into through the open windows. Wearily, you try and open your eyes just a tad but your bed is _so_ comfortable, and the way the front of your body molds so easily against Lucio’s back is—

Wait a minute. 

Whose room were you in again? 

Ah— that’s right. Last night had been a little more than drinking and ringing in the count’s birthday at midnight, hadn’t it? Just as it always was. 

_Come here, magician._

It had been well into the evening when the count had ushered you over, naught a soul in the room save for yourself, Nadia, and a few others. The rest had been kicked out— _they aren’t important enough to share my company_ , he had said. You don’t remember the night all too well, the wine in your system spreading a pleasant buzz throughout your body that had you practically beaming the whole time, laughing and giggling at nearly everything that had been said. Lucio seemed to be enjoying himself just as much, his cheeks tinged a slight pink and a broad smile lingering on his face, the same smile that he gave only to _you_ when you were either alone or he was simply too drunk to care. And you, being the stumbling, bumbling mess that you were, happily obliged to his request, luxurious silks clinging to your form even as you near-threw yourself into his lap, barely managing to balance yourself on one of his thighs while your arms secured themselves around his neck. The golden press of his arm – still well-functioning and infused with your magics – settled against your back, securing you from falling while his other hand reached to brush aside strands of hair from your face. 

_Come now, Lucio. Make her walk again and she’ll end up face first on the floor._

Nadia’s tittering registered vaguely in your mind; had Lucio always been this warm? You suppose not, or surely you would have noticed such a wonderful gift before. Sighing, you nuzzled into the count’s neck, lips pressing sloppily into the skin there. 

_Ah, I suppose you’re right,_ dear. _I wouldn’t be a proper host if I didn’t amend this myself, no?_

And without warning, you were hoisted into the air, Lucio securing you with an arm underneath your back and the other under the bend of your knees. The laugh you let out was nothing short of a shriek, drunken mind telling you to hold on to him for dear life as you soared through the air. And the count wasn’t without his stumbles, either, the two of you two peas in a pod despite how he seemed to protest otherwise. You offered a half-hearted wave at Nadia, blowing her a kiss goodnight as the two of you waltzed out the room, Lucio spinning you round and round across the halls of the palace even with your loud protests for him to _stop_. 

So now here you were, legs comfortably intertwined and an arm thrown over his waist, your hand settling against the hard planes of his abdomen. Even though you forgot most of the party, you surely couldn’t forget the moment Lucio brought you to his room, the events that followed sobering you up _quite_ quickly. And even if you had, you knew he’d be more than happy to recreate what had occurred in every sense of the word, making sure to add additional scratches and bruises to you as he went. You closed your eyes once more and breathed in, taking for granted the moment of solace as you smiled, your own little reprieve before the servants came and threw the both of you into chaos. Lucio shifted slightly in your arms, a huff escaping him as he turned to the side slightly, just enough for a lone silver eye to glance at you blearily. “Must you always be so fidgety in the morning?” came the near-grumble beside you, the count’s voice ringing loud and clear amidst the silence of the room. You only smiled in response, knowing that his anger was short-lived, much more when he was around you than anyone else. 

“My apologies,” you replied, “I guess I got a little caught up thinking about everything that happened last night. You always know how to throw quite the party, even before the main event.” At that, Lucio grinned, this time fully turning in your arms to face you. His eyes glided down your form, bare and all for him to see, that same delight lingering in his gaze as if it had been the first time all over again. Marks littered your skin, bruises and scratches alike, a memory of the night the two of you had shared— _not that you’d ever forget them._

“You’ve yet to even see how the palace will be tonight. Last year’s celebration will absolutely pale in comparison. Just remember to save the last dance for me.” 

_Save the last dance_ , as you did every year. The last dance was the most important, as whoever danced with the fair count last received an illustrious white rose as a reward. But what most failed to recognize was that it was _you_ held within his arms by the end of the night, no matter how much other men and women tried. It was a bit of a game the two of you played, with every year being much more fun than the last. Your costumes became more and more extravagant, easily blending in with that of the other nobles, and your mask hid more and more of your features, giving little away to the man that _hunted_ you throughout the length of the party. This year’s theme revolved around the stars, and you were absolutely brimming with excitement at the thought of seeing not only his, but **everyone’s** reaction at the sight of you. You would shine the brightest, would twirl the fastest, and would dance with all the gracefulness of an astral goddess. Truly, there would be no stopping the collective jaw-dropping. But for now, you had a birthday to celebrate. 

Slowly, surely, you moved with the grace of a woman who had all the time in the world, delicate hands pushing the count flat on his back as you climbed atop him, plush thighs settling on either side of his hips. And there it was, that insufferable smirk that had you weak in the knees since day one. No matter how much you claimed to hate it, it made your heart flutter every time, and as the sun rose high and the light illuminated you both on the morning of Lucio’s birthday, you well and truly knew that you loved it, just as you loved every last bit of him. 

“—As always,” you murmured against his lips, and the rest of the morning was nothing but **bliss**.


End file.
